The Cats that Broke the Spell

by Karen Anne Golden

  Katherine scanned the room. The farmhouse kitchen had not been updated in decades. There were no traditional cabinets, just wood shelves built on the walls, and several stand-alone hutches, with glass fronts, that stored glasses, dishes, pots and pans. An Indiana-made Hoosier cabinet with a zinc top counter stood in the corner. The cabinet had been painted white and had decals of fruit pasted on it. A louvered door was half open over the counter top.

  Near the tall double hung window was an oak farmer’s table with four caned chairs. The aged linoleum floor was in good, clean condition, but was uneven and gently sloped to the back door. That’s when Katherine saw that it was ajar, and she lunged to close it.

  She muttered, “I can’t believe Jake left the door open. He knew I was bringing Scout and Abra. What if they’d gotten out?”

  Colleen defended Jake. “He probably got distracted by something. Maybe he wanted to air the room out. It’s a bit stuffy.”

  Katherine said, still annoyed, “He could have opened the window,” then when she noticed the window didn’t have a screen, she said, “or naught.”

  Abra leaped onto the Hoosier’s zinc top and began sniffing the corner of the bottom shelf. She wrinkled her face in disgust, then turned her attention to Scout.

  Colleen, standing closest to the dumbwaiter, grabbed Scout around the stomach and held her tight. “You vixen,” she said affectionately. “How did you pry that door off?”

  Scout sneezed.

  Katherine walked over and took Scout from Colleen’s arms. She brushed a cobweb off of the Siamese’s nose. “Scout, how did you even know that was in here?”

  Colleen scrutinized the dumbwaiter. “Do you think this UP arrow on the side works?” she asked, leaning over and pushing the button.

  “Don’t!” Katherine warned, but it was too late. The dumbwaiter slowly ascended to the top floor and came to a creaking halt. Not wanting the cats to venture into the opening, Katherine snatched the insert door off the floor. With one hand, she pressed it back in place, and moved the metal turn-buttons to keep the door in place.

  “I’d expect a dumbwaiter in a mansion, but an old farmhouse?” Colleen asked.

  “Maybe back in the day, someone was bedridden and couldn’t use the stairs to come down and eat.”

  “T’would be easier on the cook to send up a meal rather than carry a tray upstairs, granted someone was up there to receive it.”

  “Maybe a nurse? Don’t know. Just one of those mysteries associated with an old house. Reach over and press that button again.”

  “Do I have to? That noise was worse than fingernails scraping across a blackboard.”

  “Well, we can’t just leave it up there,” Katherine complained.

  Colleen smirked, then pressed the DOWN arrow button.

  The dumbwaiter slowly descended, squeaking all the way until it rested on the planked base.

  Scout struggled to be free.

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  “I guess we need to add this to our cat-proofing list. Number one: Jake needs to install a lock on the dumbwaiter.”

  Katherine added, “Number two: Jake needs to mount the deadbolt to the storage room a little bit higher, so Scout can’t get her paws on it.”

  Colleen chuckled. “Round One of Scout versus the locksmith.” She picked up Abra from the Hoosier. “Can we go now? I’m starving. I vote we take these two back to Erie and then head to the diner.”

  “Sounds like a plan. It’s Saturday, so their special is homemade chicken and noodles.”

  “Okay, you’re killing me.”

  “But first, I want to go outside and investigate before we go.”

  “This is the part where you’re scaring me — again.”

  “I’m armed, so don’t worry.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Check out the place in the field where I saw the person stand. If I find footprints, then I’ll know I’m not seeing things.”

  “Shouldn’t you text Jake and tell him what’s going on?”

  “Why? Nothing’s going on. I’m just curious. Listen before I go, help me put these two in the carrier.”

  “Sure.”

  “And once we’ve got them in there, go around and turn out the lights.”

  “Yes, commander.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be bossy. Please?” Holding Scout, Katherine moved to the front room. She gingerly put the Siamese in the carrier, took Abra from Colleen’s arms, and placed Abra next to Scout. The Siamese sat down grasshopper-style and began grooming each other. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, leaving.

  Katherine jogged down the porch steps and walked to the edge of the cornfield. She immediately noticed how close together the corn plants were. She wondered if a person could even walk between the rows. She leaned down and scrutinized the area. Finding only cat tracks, she returned to the house.

  “Well?” Colleen asked, picking up her bag that was lying on the entry door chair.

  “Nada, it must have been my imagination. Are we ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Raw,” Abra cried in a half yawn.

  Together, Katherine and Colleen lifted the carrier, moved it to the Subaru, and placed it on the back seat. Katherine ran back to the house and made sure the ancient lockset was locked. She inserted the filigreed-brass key and turned it to the right. Taking out the key, she tested the door handle several times just to be sure, then ran back to the SUV.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, she showed the key to Colleen. “It’s really old. I’m afraid it will break in the lock someday soon.”

  Colleen took the key and tried to bend it. “It’s stronger than it looks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a key like this. It looks like something from a Harry Potter movie.”

  “I know. It’s three million years old. Bud Baxter won’t allow Jake and me to change the lock or put on another one.”

  “Why? He let Jake install one on the storage room door.”

  “He said that the front door is made of a rare mahogany and he didn’t want more holes drilled into it.”

  Colleen became very quiet.

  Katherine looked at her curiously. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Colleen answered tartly, “That’s for me to know and you to not find out.”

  “We’ll be safe out here.”

  “I hope you didn’t just jinx it,” Colleen said under her breath.

  “I heard that!” Katherine said.

  “Waugh,” Scout added in a tone tinged with worry.

  Chapter Five

  Sunday

  The following morning, in the kitchen of the pink mansion, Jake stood behind the stove and flipped two blueberry pancakes onto a plate. Katherine sat at the glass-topped table, drinking hazelnut coffee. The seven cats were on the floor, arranged in a circle, eating their breakfast off small Havilland china plates.

  “Yum! Yum!” Iris cried, smacking her lips.

  “Mao, mao, mao,” Dewey belted.

  Jake asked curiously, “Any particular reason why you’re interested in an angel Lladro figurine?”

  “Lladro? My great-aunt collected them but I don’t. Why do you ask?”

  “The cats must have surfed up that page. When I walked in your office this morning, it was on your screen.”

  “When I first moved into the mansion, one of the cats broke a figurine. I packed up the rest of the collection and stored them in the attic.”

  “Maybe the cats think you’re an angel. I do,” Jake grinned, setting the plate of pancakes in front of Katherine. “Bon appetit,” he said in a fake French accent.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  “I’ve already had breakfast while you and the kids slept in.” Jake sat down, picked up the front page of the Sunday newspaper. Scanning it, and not finding anything of interest, he asked, “What time is Scout’s and Abra’s appointment at the vet on Tuesday?”

  “Shhh,” Katherine said. “They know what you’re say
ing.”

  “Na-waugh,” Scout protested, no longer interested in her food. She tried to bury it on the ceramic tile floor.

  “See what I mean,” Katherine said to Jake, then to Scout. “It’s not today, sweetie.”

  An ‘I don’t believe you’ look flashed across Scout’s face.

  Jake eyes crinkled affectionately on both sides.

  “The appointment is at four-thirty. When’s your last class?”

  “I’ll be home by then.”

  “After you-know-who gets their S-H-O-Ts,” Katherine spelled, “I don’t plan on driving back to the mansion. I plan to drive straight to the farmhouse.”

  “Okay, while you’re at the V-E-T, I’ll move the other cats to the farmhouse. We’ll start dinner for you.”

  “I like that idea,” Katherine smiled.

  “Na-waugh,” Scout repeated. She trotted over and rubbed Katherine’s leg.

  Katherine scratched Scout’s chin. “Eat your breakfast, sweetie. If you don’t, Dewey will.”

  Iris looked up from her bowl and cried a low throaty growl, then the front doorbell clanged.

  “Who could that be?” Katherine asked, startled.

  “Probably Dad. He’s bringing his pickup so we can move a few pieces of furniture to the farmhouse.”

  “Okay, that’s great. Iris and Abby will appreciate their wingback chair being moved. I don’t think they’d be happy without a place to hide their loot.”

  Jake laughed. “I better get the door before Dad rings the bell again.”

  The cats hated the doorbell worse than the GPS lady.

  Jake left the room, but came back in a minute. “Katz, its Dr. Goodwin.”

  Katherine patted her napkin to her chin where a dollop of butter had fallen. “I wonder what he wants?” she asked, puzzled.

  Jake shrugged. “I seated him in the living room. He sat down in the most fragile chair in the room,” he smirked.

  “Why do big men always do that?” Katherine joked, hoping Dr. Goodwin wouldn’t collapse the chair and fall to the floor.

  “While you’re gone, I’ll protect your pancakes from feline fangs and paws.”

  Abby chirped and then ran her pink tongue over her lips.

  “I saw that,” Katherine giggled. She got up and made her way to the living room. She tried to shut the door to the kitchen, so the cats wouldn’t follow her, but Iris darted past her.

  “Miss Siam, come back here,” she said, closing the door.

  “Yowl,” the Siamese sassed, galloping to the front. The defiant cat darted into the living room, and headed straight to the veterinarian.

  Dr. Goodwin reached down to pet the escapee. “She’s a beautiful Siamese,” he admired.

  Iris did figure eights in front of the director, purring loudly. Then she moved to the back of the Eastlake side chair he was sitting on. She stood on her hind legs and reached through the gap between the chair’s seat and back. She moved her paw with a quickness worthy of a professional pickpocket and removed something from the side pocket of Dr. Goodwin’s jacket. Clutching the stolen item in her teeth, she ran underneath the famous wingback chair. Katherine noticed it immediately but didn’t try to retrieve the object. Something about Iris’s body language warned her not to. Iris caught her glance, and did a slow blink.

  Sitting down on the velvet loveseat, Katherine answered, “Iris is special.”

  “Is Iris the cat who was kidnapped? The one Barbie Sanders took care of?”

  “Yes, I’m surprised you know about that.”

  “Talk is cheap and plentiful in a small town,” he laughed.

  “What can I help you with today?” Katherine asked, trying to speed up the conversation and get to the point. She had a lot of work to do before the move to the farmhouse. She wondered why the director of one of her charities had dropped by. She knew it wasn’t a social call because he’d never visited her in the pink mansion before. They conducted most of their business on the phone.

  The director stood up and began pacing the floor. “Just to let you know, I’ve contacted Sheriff Johnson regarding a cat hoarding situation. The Center only has so many cages and cannot shelter as many as a hundred cats —”

  “A hundred cats? Where?” Katherine interrupted with concern.

  “A woman who lives on County Road 150 West.”

  “What? Jake and I have rented a farmhouse on that road.”

  “The woman’s name is Elizabeth Howe.”

  “Elizabeth Howe,” Katherine repeated, trying to make a connection between the woman brandishing a shotgun and a suspected hoarder with a hundred cats.

  “We have reason to believe she’s not taking care of her cats,” he continued.

  “I beg to differ,” Katherine said in a disbelieving voice.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, surprised.

  “I met her. Her cats were with her. I counted seven cats, or maybe eight, certainly not a hundred.”

  “As the director, it’s my job to take action on what witnesses have complained about.”

  “Complained? The woman lives out in the middle of nowhere. How did people even get close enough to count the number of cats she has? How did they get past her front gate?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. She has a very difficult personality. I have credible, reliable witnesses.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say right now. I need to protect their privacy, at least until the authorities decide to file charges.”

  “Charges? Dr. Goodwin, need I remind you that I financed the Center?” Katherine asked, firmly. “And pay your salary. I certainly have the right to know who is making these allegations.”

  Dr. Goodwin didn’t answer but gave a smug look. His cell phone pinged with a text message. “Excuse me. One second, please,” he said, then looked at the screen. Melinda had texted. The director moved over to the window to read it. “Mission aborted,” she texted. “The witch was home. Cats attacked me. Come get me. Can’t drive.” The director typed in a return message, “Be there in a few.” He sent the message, then looked at Katherine. “I apologize for this. One of the volunteers has a problem.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “No, thanks for asking. I’ve got it covered.”

  “Getting back to what we were talking about,” Katherine said. “Elizabeth Howe’s cats appeared to be in great health. I think you’ve been duped by the rumor mill that is going around town.”

  “That she’s a witch,” he accused, raising his voice. “Frankly, I think she’s a witch in more ways than one.”

  Iris didn’t like the angry tone of Dr. Goodwin. She ran to find Jake, but Jake had already entered the room. “Is there a problem?” Jake asked, concerned.

  Dr. Goodwin composed himself and said civilly, “It was a problem, but now it’s being take care of.” He strode toward the front door, opened it, and left.

  Iris yowled, frightened. Jake picked her up, cradled her like an infant, and cooed, “It’s okay, baby girl.”

  Katherine said in confused wonderment, “Wow, the Director of the Rescue Center — who I thought was perfect for the job — is hell bent on doing something I totally disagree with.”

  Jake put Iris down on the floor. “Can you stop him?”

  “What I meant to say, it’s already been done.” She quickly brought Jake up to speed about the director contacting Sheriff Johnson about a cat hoarding accusation.

  Jake asked, “Who’s the cat hoarder?”

  “Professor Howe.”

  Jake reacted differently from what Katherine expected. He wasn’t surprised. Instead, he brought his hand up to his face to cover his mouth to refrain from laughing. “Katz, this is a joke. I’ve been to Lizzie’s house before Nicholas disappeared. She’s spotlessly clean, and her cats live the life of Riley.”

  “Jake, it’s not a joke. What if sheriff drives out to talk to her and she shoots him?”

  “I don’t believe she’d do that. Knowing her, she’ll
invite the sheriff into her house, show him her cats, which will be a few and not a hundred, and then be done with it. Sheriff Johnson will be annoyed that he wasted his time driving out there.”

  “Dr. Goodwin called Elizabeth a witch. I didn’t expect to hear that from a professional. I guess he’s jumped on the bandwagon with a lot of other people in this town.”

  “The local rumor mill is rife with talk about Professor Howe, and has been for several years now.”

  “Sounds more like a witch hunt,” Katherine commented. The doorbell sounded again. “What is this? Grand Central Station?” she asked, annoyed.

  “It has to be my dad,” Jake said, sprinting to the door.

  Katherine rose from the loveseat and walked over to the wingback chair. She got down on her hands and knees. Iris trotted over and jumped on the seat. She head-butted Katherine’s forehead, then peered over the edge.

  “What did you hide in there, my brown-masked thief?”

  “Yowl,” Iris answered innocently.

  Katherine heard the front door close and assumed Jake was outside on the porch, talking to his dad. She ran her hand inside the torn lining of the chair, and was surprised she didn’t find anything.

  “I know it was you, Fredo. I saw you steal it from Dr. Goodwin’s pocket. Now, where is it?”

  Jake came back inside the house and returned to the room. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I saw Iris steal something from the director, but there’s nothing in the chair.”

  “Let me look,” Jake said, tipping the chair over on its side. He ran his hand inside the chair. “Didn’t find anything, which is odd, because I swore one of the cats stole my toothbrush.”

  Katherine giggled, then turned to the direction of the door leading to the kitchen. She heard a whishing sound.

  Abby proudly entered the room with a blueberry pancake clamped in her teeth. Straddling the rest of the pancake like a spider, the ruddy-colored Abyssinian gingerly clamped her jaw on one edge, while the rest, in all its flapjack glory, grazed the floor.

  Jake stood up and laughed.

  Katherine ran to Abby. “Gimme that.”

  Abby paid no attention and slowly continued to the wingback chair.

  Katherine leaned down and grabbed the pancake. It tore and landed on the floor. Abby began to eat what was left of it.